SIYE Time:3:17 on 19th December 2018

Memoirs of a Red Headed Witch
By My Wicked Quill

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Category: Pre-OotP, Post-OotP, Post-HBP, Post-Hogwarts, Post-DH/AB
Genres: Action/Adventure, Comedy, Humor, Romance, Songfic
Warnings: Mild Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Violence
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 136
Summary: Ginny Weasley was always overlooked. Always the youngest, always the smallest, and was never really given the chance to let her voice be heard. But sometimes the best insight comes from those who were always in the background. Her story of redemption, loyalty and love, proves that she was never just the Weasley brothers' little sister.
Hitcount: Story Total: 112482; Chapter Total: 6042
Awards: View Trophy Room

Author's Notes:
Thank you soooo much for nominating me for the September/October Dumbledore's Trinket award for Best Romance!!
This story will be posted as it is validated, soon you'll be caught up to the point i'm at (Deathly Hallows)
These first few chapters, just so you know, are pretty quick memories due tot he fact that she wasn't a huge character. But be warned it will get better they will be longer and much more detailed, Enjoy!


"I can't keep myself from doing something stupid,

Think I'm really falling for his smile,

Get butterflies when he says my name,

He's got something special

and when he's lookin’ at me

I wanna get all sentimental

I can hardly breathe something

telling me

Maybe he could be the one,” He Could Be the One, Hannah Montana

I have a strong feeling everyone remembers the first conversation I had with him-or what would have been a conversation had I not been such a giddy ninny. From the moment Harry Potter first stepped into my house I wasn’t the same person for years. I was quiet and shy, two qualities that had not once been related to me, clumsy, bashful, all the terrible things I never wanted to be.

The night before it happened, my brothers were whispering up a whirl wind of plans about taking our father’s flying Ford Anglia to break Harry out of his aunt and uncles house. Naturally, without the consent, or permission of Mum and Dad; not that I worried so much about that.

“Are they really treating him that badly?” I asked from the doorway to Fred and George’s room. Ron and the twins were huddled in the center between the two beds, surrounded by boxes and crates holding hundreds of who-knew-what kinds of mischievous contraptions, that no matter whom you were or how annoying you found them to be, made you smile. Yes Fred and George always knew how to cheer someone up. But at the moment, Fred was dangling the keys to the car in his hand, looking up at me pointedly.

I had only asked for sake of curiosity; there was nothing I wanted more than for Harry to spend some time with our family.

“Well, if it isn’t Mrs. Potter!” Fred began his and his twin’s endless banter.

“Worried about Harry now?” George followed.

“You should be-”

“They starve him-”

“And hit him-”

“Bars on his windows!”

“We’re sure you’d want to make him feel better?”

“Hmm… In what ways dear Fred?”

“Well, George, they say a kiss can take any pain away!”

As they started off making kissing faces and noises, Ron stared at me thoughtfully, I didn’t dwell on him. I rolled my eyes.

“Take me with you,” I said simply.

“No,” They all answered at once.

“Why not? You never let me do anything! You know fair well I can help.”

The twins stood up, these were the brothers I took after the most, and it seemed at age eleven I was already following in their footsteps.

“Ginevra. If we take you with us,”

“Then who will be the look out?”

“Percy?” they asked unanimously laughing at the thought.

“No one can cover for us the way you can.”

Crossing my arms I glared up at them. “That worked when I was six, I’m not falling for it again.”

“Well, then, sorry sis!” they said, closing the door in my face. My temper flared; that was undoubtedly plain rude.

Pounding my fist on the door I called, “Just you wait until I get my wand next week!” and stomped away.

I heard my brothers sneak down that stairs and past my door late that night. I remember how I listened for them, because I knew that since my bedroom was on the third landing of the house they’d have to pass me to get down to the garden. Some of me wanted to walk out of my room and demand again that I accompany them, but in the end I decided against it. I turned in my bed and fell asleep quickly.

I awoke to a commotion in the kitchen. Jumping out of bed I wanted to get dressed quickly in the clothing I had laid out to wear that night when I found that my brothers were planning on bringing him home. I was going to look my best. But of course, my clothes were no where to be seen. Groaning I tore my small room apart, searching for the clothes I had put on my dresser just hours prior.

I spent about ten minutes until I gave up. I needed that jumper. It was the one that would most impress Harry. I never really minded much that my family didn’t have much money, due to the fact that my mother could knit up a storm. Heaving a deep breath I wrapped my bathrobe around me and rushed out the door.

No doubt my mother took the clothes from my room this morning; she had to have known where they were.

I can’t believe, even now, that I was foolish enough on the morning I knew the great Harry Potter, the dazzling brave boy who I had convinced myself at such a young age, was going to be a part of my life one day, would be at my house, that I would walk out of my room, bed headed, sleepy-eyed, morning-breathed and still in my pajamas. I will never forgive myself for that.

I ran down three short flights of stair that led into the kitchen, announcing loudly, “Mummy have you seen my jumper?”

“Are you speaking of the clothes I found thrown all over your…”

But that’s the last I heard of that, because I noticed that not all of the heads the breakfast table were flaming red. Harry Potter’s black hair stuck out like a sore thumb. In that instant he put his fork down and turned to me with the brightest expression I had ever seen, “Hello!”

My brothers were trying not to laugh.

I was trying not to faint.

My mother was going on about my clothes.

I met his eyes for one last second before I ran back up the stairs at full speed. I reached my room, but not before I heard Ron’s voice,

“Ginny, my sister, she’s been talking about you all summer.”

“My more like all her life,” Fred and George muttered.

“What?” Harry’s voice asked.

“Never mind.”

With that I closed my door and sank to the floor with embarrassment. It was my first chance with Harry Potter and I had blown it.

He had gotten older, obviously, but his features had gotten even more partial. Or maybe it was because I hadn’t seen him in a whole year. But my heart was racing my cheeks were flushed, and I’d made myself look like a fool. It would not happen again. I would not let it.

I avoided Harry as often as I could, because I was trying to cope from my former embarrassment and also because I was trying to muster up the courage to speak to him. All in all I wasn’t fairing well, and every chance they got, my brothers made sure I was aware of it. It only got worse.

The next morning, I had learned my lesson, I had my long red mane brushed, breath fresh, face cleaned and was properly dressed before descending into the kitchen. My parents were already down, my mother bustling around making breakfast and my father seated with the Daily Prophet in hand.

I began eating the porridge my mother placed in front of me keeping my eyes away from my father who was watching me as though I had grown another head.

My father wasn’t always so keen on noticing the obvious, in my years since hearing of Harry I had gone around saying I would end up with him, but my father barely took notice. Now, my lack of charisma and quiet appeal since Harry entered the threshold must have him confused beyond belief.

“I’ll tell you later dear,” my mother whispered to my father as she set a steaming cup of tea before him. She thought I couldn’t hear. I pretended I didn’t and blushed into my bowl. I had been doing a lot of that lately.

That’s when Ron and Harry came down the stairs.

One glance at him and somehow my porridge bowl ended up beneath the table. Harry nobly acted as though he hadn’t seen and I ducked under the table to retrieve it. And perhaps control my blush a bit so that he wouldn’t see it. I smacked myself on the head.

Never had I ever been like that.

Back then, I thought Harry must have cast a spell on me at some point turning me into this Ginny Weasley who was slowly becoming more and more ridiculous. I didn’t know that it was just the start of a long winding road of affection for him.

Breakfast went on smoothly after that, until Harry outright spoke to me again. I had told myself that if he were to speak to me I would answer, no matter what it was, that way he would know I had a voice, one that usually never shut up.

The conversation had been revolving around the arrival of our Hogwarts letters, my very first one in fact, when Harry looked up, interested.

“Oh, are you starting at Hogwarts this year?”

He was so kind, so friendly, I found myself swooning, swooning! I managed to nod; there went my promise of speaking to him. I felt myself blushing- again- and somehow, again I don’t remember the mechanics of these small details I only remember the clear feeling of having my elbow in the butter dish.

And of course the only one to see this display, Harry Potter.

That was only just the beginning.
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